Time For Payback
by Halcris
Summary: A friend said my last story needed another chapter, a sequel. So Time For Payback follows directly after Cold Comfort.


**Time for Payback**.

Doyle had spent a quiet week working with Murphy, a week involving copious enquiries, and a lot of research, with only a slight degree of success.. The best bit had been at the start of the week, when a certain deserted warehouse had been thoroughly investigated and two cars recovered.

His usual partner, Bodie, was still on sick leave, due to an encounter they both had had with a new villain on their patch, one Arturo Mortinelli, who had left them for dead in Wales.

His own injury, a minor one to his left hand, had healed well, and was responding quickly to gentle exercise, but Bodie's, a nasty leg wound, would take some time. Bodie was back in London now, in his own flat, taking full advantage of care and help from his many lady-friends.

Although Murphy wasn't quite the 'action man' that Bodie was, they got on easily and worked very well together, especially with the research and paperwork that his usual partner so detested.

He and Murphy had put in a long day's work and were now back at base, snatching a quick coffee before settling down to write up their report. Murphy put the kettle on while Doyle got the mugs and the coffee jar from the cupboard, setting them out on the tray.

They heard the sound of the lift coming up. Then came an unexpected sound, a thump, a muffled curse, and there was Bodie, swinging in the door on his big crutches. Both men hurried to aid him into a chair at the table.

"What are you doing here ?," demanded Doyle. "You're supposed to be resting at home."

"I came to see what you are doing about the Mortinellis," said Bodie.

"Not much," replied Doyle, a little taken aback

"Why not ?," demanded Bodie. "They tried to kill us, you know."

"Course I know," snapped Doyle, "I was there, remember."

"Then why aren't you doing anything ?," persisted his mate.

"What do you expect us to do ?, " expostulated Doyle, "Get the police to arrest them on a charge of attempted murder ?."

"Well," said Bodie, "It's what they did, Isn't it ?."

"Imagine it," said Doyle. "An arrest, a trial, and our names and faces all over the papers. Cowley would love that, wouldn't he ?."

Bodie calmed down a bit, as he thought of the implications of that picture.

"No, I suppose that isn't on," he admitted. "But we can't let them get away with it."

"We won't," replied Doyle, passing the coffee Murphy had just made over to his friend. "But just at the moment there's not a lot we can do, is there ?"

"Cowley has issued a surveillance order," put in Murphy, "and we're keeping a close look out for any signs of them interested in some other building."

"Trouble is," mused Doyle, "We don't as yet have any idea what he was going to do in that warehouse we discovered. We know they went to Cardiff several times, and Cowley's got the police there trying to find out who they were contacting."

Bodie was looking thoughtful. "Do you suppose they know we survived ?," he wondered. "Couldn't we let them know, rather forcefully, somehow ?"

Doyle smiled to himself at this. Just what did Bodie think they could do ? Go and knock on their door, and say "You didn't get us –we're back."

"I expect they've heard 'on the grapevine' by now," he said. "That's probably why they seem to have 'gone to ground' for a bit."

"We'll just have to bide our time," contributed Murphy.

Bodie shrugged rather crossly, and sipped his coffee. Murphy was right, of course, but patience was not his strong point. He was going to find the long period of inaction because of his injury very trying.

Doyle knew very well how frustrated his partner was feeling and felt some sympathy for him.

"How did you get here ?," he said, changing the subject.

"Thelma dropped me off on her way to work," said Bodie. "She works in a club in town."

"In that case," said Doyle, "Give us a hand with these reports, and I'll run you home."

Bodie really wasn't a lot of help, but Murphy was his usual efficient self, and they soon got the work done.

Doyle helped his mate into his car and drove him back to his flat.

"Come in for a while ?," asked Bodie. "Thelma left me a casserole, and there's plenty for two."

Doyle recognised his partner's need for a bit of company, so he quickly agreed. He ended up putting the meal together himself, but he didn't mind that.

They sat comfortably later over their coffee. Doyle was reminiscing about their previous adventure.

"Lovely people, the Parry's, weren't they ?," he said.

"To be honest," replied Bodie, "I don't really remember them that well."

"You were out of it most of the time," admitted Doyle. "What do you remember ? How about earlier ? You said you heard the Mortinellis saying about going to Cardiff. Anything else ?"

Bodie was at ease and relaxed but he was thinking hard. "Arturo did say something about the people they were going to see," he said thoughtfully. "He said he hoped somebody would be co-operative. He did mention a name."

"What was it ?," asked Doyle eagerly. "It could give us a great deal of help."

"I'm thinking," said Bodie, frowning. "Began with a 'C', I think."

Suddenly he straightened up in his chair. "Carnell," he exclaimed. "That was it. He said he hoped Carnell would be co-operative."

"Great," said Doyle. "We'll pass that on to Cowley. It could be very useful."

Later the following afternoon, Cowley called Doyle into his office.

"That name you gave me was very helpful," he said. "According to the Cardiff police, he's the managing director of a firm of importers and exporters, To all intents and purposes, it's a perfectly legitimate business, but the police have long suspected that they use that as a cover for other dubious activities. But, as we well know, Doyle, suspicion alone is not enough."

He paused to consult some papers, and then continued. "If Mortinelli was trying to set up something with him, it suggests he wants him either to bring in or take out something for him. I wonder what ?."

Doyle was thoughtful for a while. Then something came into his mind. "Sir," he said eagerly, "The Mortinellis were planning to use a warehouse, so what they were intending to put there isn't small stuff, like drugs or diamonds, but something that needs storage space."

"Good thought, Doyle," said Cowley, "and that does suggest arms of some sort doesn't it ? That was Mortinelli's line in Italy."

"I'll go and contact Martell again," said Doyle. "If that's what is going on, he'd be one of the first to hear about it."

He managed to arrange a 'meet' with Martell the following afternoon. Martell greeted him in a friendly manner. He was getting to like Bodie's partner.

"I hear you managed to find Bodie," he said.

"Yes, I did," replied Doyle, "In Wales."

"Wales ?," queried Martell in some surprise.

"Yes," said Doyle, "We were dumped there. It's a long story. It seems as if Mortinelli is trying to arrange something there with a man called Carnell."

"Ah," said Martell, "Now him I do know about, and nothing good. If you're getting involved with him, be very careful. He's deviously clever and utterly ruthless too."

"Arms ?," queried Doyle.

"Definitely," replied Martell. "Anything anybody wants, he'll get, and not always in the nicest way. It's what he's known for."

"Well, thanks for that," said Doyle, and turned to go.

"Bodie didn't come with you ?," asked Martell.

"Oh, I thought you knew," replied Doyle. "Bodie's got a nasty leg injury, and he's struggling about on crutches."

"Poor old lad," said Martell. "Ask him to call me. He'll need a cheery word."

A day or so later, Murphy was driving Doyle back to base, as he tried to put together a few notes on several fruitless enquiries they had made that morning.

Suddenly, Doyle said "Stop", and Murphy obediently pulled in to the side of the road.

"What's up ?," asked Murphy.

"It's Benjy Mortinelli," replied Doyle. "Just went into that 'bookies'."

The pair got out of the car, and Murphy followed Doyle as he strode into the bookmakers premises. Several of the men in there recognised him. A couple tried to sidle out without attracting his notice, but he wasn't interested in them.

He walked firmly up to Benjy, who, head down, was busy writing out a betting slip. "Hello, Benjy," he said. The startled man jumped visibly.

"And what are you up to these days, Benjy ?," continued Doyle.

"Nothing," stammered Benjy, looking scared to death. "Honestly, Mr. Doyle. I'm not up to anything."

"I believe you, thousands wouldn't," said Doyle, still in a friendly tone. Then his voice hardened. "But we can't say the same about Ralph and uncle Arturo, can we, Benjy ?," he said, giving the man a fierce look.

Benjy quailed, and his voice was very shaky as he replied. "I don't know what they're doing, Mr. Doyle. Really I don't. They don't include me in their plans these days."

Doyle quickly noted the resentful tone in the man's voice. "Well," he said, "Just you let them know that we're taking a very keen interest in what they are up to, and we've long memories." Benjy nodded.

Murphy followed Doyle back to the car. "What was all that about ?," he asked as they set off again. "He obviously doesn't know anything."

"No, I don't think he does," agreed Doyle. "But he'll let them know we're still around, and after them."

He was thoughtful for a bit, and then continued. "I don't think Benjy would actually betray them – family loyalty and all that. But he isn't that bright, and he's clearly a bit annoyed at being excluded from their activities, especially if they've got a plan to make good money. He's also very scared of C.I.5. So, if we keep tabs on him, he might easily be tricked into letting something slip, without meaning to."

Murphy nodded. Doyle was clever, and could be pretty devious too, when it came to getting results.

They returned to base, put in their reports, including a note on having seen Benjy Mortinelli.

Cowley decided there wasn't enough cause to use their limited resources to put a man on constant surveillance of Benjy, so Doyle had to rely on his various informants to let him know of anything unusual. But all the Mortinellis seemed to be keeping a very low profile. Their big house was surrounded by the strictest security measures, so it wasn't even known for sure whether they were all actually in residence. They certainly weren't doing anything to attract any attention.

It was by sheer chance that Doyle received a bit of gossip about Benjy. He had been making a call at a 'bookies', looking for a man who might be a witness in a nasty drug overdose case. But the man wasn't there after all. He turned to leave, when an old lag he knew, called Jimmy, approached him. Jimmy didn't like the Mortinellis one bit. He'd been a rather inept cat-burglar, but he'd never been involved in the drug scene, the Mortinellis strongest business. A good friend had died of drug abuse, and he hated dealers and pushers fiercely.

"Mr. Doyle," he whispered as he sidled up to him, "I hear you're interested in what Benjy Mortinelli gets up to."

"Has he been up to anything ?," queried Doyle. "I've heard nothing. He hasn't been seen for days."

"Well he was last night," said Jimmy. "He was 'out on the razzle', and he was fighting drunk when I saw him. I was on my way home when I saw him get arrested by P.C. Londis. Drunk and disorderly he was, shouting and laughing."

Doyle was immediately interested. This was quite out of character for Benjy, who was normally only a moderate drinker, and never raucous with it.

"Which station would he have been taken to ?," he asked, slipping the man some money.

Jimmy told him, and he made his way there as quickly as he could. As luck would have it, he knew the sergeant on the desk, so he got an immediate response to his questions.

"Benjy Mortinelli ? Yes, he was with us last night, but you've missed him. His brother, Ralph isn't it, bailed him out and collected him over an hour ago."

"Someone told me he was shouting and laughing," said Doyle. "Did he say anything interesting ?."

"Oh, he had plenty to say," replied the sergeant, a big grin on his face. "Seemed to be complaining bitterly about his brother and uncle shutting him out of things. And he kept laughing as if he was enjoying some private joke. He was going on about 'church', and what a joke it was, his brother and uncle going to church."

He smiled at the memory. The idea of the Mortinellis being church-goers was funny after all.

"But he quietened down after a while and slept, and he was very subdued and hung-over when his brother came to fetch him home this morning."

"I'll bet he was," said Doyle, "he's not usually a heavy drinker."

He thanked the sergeant and left. As he drove back to Headquarters, he thought over what he had heard. Was it at all important ?.

It wasn't till he was half-way up the stairs that the possible significance of Benjy's ranting dawned on him. He took the rest of the stairs at a run, and tapped urgently on his boss's door. Fortunately Cowley was alone and called him in.

He listened intently as Doyle explained his idea.

"Benjy appeared to be laughing himself silly at the idea of Ralph and Arturo going to church. But suppose it wasn't 'going to church', but rather going to a church ? Though not as many as warehouses and factories, there are some derelict church buildings about."

Now I know why I recruited you, thought Cowley to himself. As well as your physical skills, you've got a brain that thinks things out.

"But we'll have to be very careful," Doyle went on. "Mortinelli knows we're watching his every move, and if he sees anyone at all looking at empty churches, he'll back off, and we will have lost another chance."

"What do you suggest then ?," asked Cowley.

"Let me go to the Computer Centre, and find out details there," replied Doyle quickly.

"Good idea," said Cowley, "and for goodness sake, take Bodie with you. He's been hanging about all day, driving us mad, trying to find something to do."

Doyle grinned at his boss's exasperated tone. "He gets very bored, sir," he said, "When he's out of action."

"I know," said Cowley, "Nevertheless, take him with you, out of our hair. Pretend he's being helpful, even if he isn't."

Doyle smiled to himself over this, but did as requested. He collected his partner from the rest-room, and ferried him over to the Computer Centre with him. He explained to the operator in charge what he was looking for – empty abandoned church buildings that could possibly be used for the storage of illegal goods.

"There won't be that many," the girl said confidently, "and some we can immediately eliminate."

"How ?," asked Bodie curiously.

"First," she replied, "we cut out those that are being demolished soon, and then those that are being developed for a different use, and the ones where there is a planning application in the pipeline for that."

Bodie and Doyle watched, fascinated, as the machine whirred and clicked, selecting some cards and passing others through.

"And then there are a few where the roof has gone," the girl continued, "They wouldn't be any good for storing stuff, would they ?."

"There," she said, as the machine came to a halt and fell silent, "I told you there wouldn't be many. It's only given me five 'possibles'. I'll print you a list."

A few minutes later she handed Doyle a list with five addresses. He thanked her profusely and they left.

"What now ?," asked Bodie, as he swung his way back to the car.

"Back to base," replied Doyle, "Then we get out some maps, and find out exactly where these five buildings are."

They took their findings back to Cowley.

"Now I suppose you want to go snooping round those five," he said.

"Not me !," replied Doyle instantly, making Cowley look at him in surprise.

"The Mortinellis know me too well," explained Doyle. "Could I have Steadman to do it ?," he asked."

"Why Steadman ?," queried his boss.

"Because he's very good at it," said Doyle. "We can't risk anyone being spotted taking an interest. But he has the knack of blending into the background. A couple of times I've gone to take over from him and it has taken me a few minutes to spot him."

"Very well," agreed Cowley, accepting the sense of this request.

Doyle shot off to find Steadman. He explained to the man exactly what he wanted him to do, stressing that above all he mustn't attract any attention.

A couple of days later, Steadman got back with his first report. "I've managed to eliminate two of the sites you gave me," he said. "This one has just got planning permission through, to be developed as a 'drop-in' centre, and some workmen were in there this morning."

He pointed to a second address. "The church hall here is still in use by a flourishing play-group. They have a key to the old church building, and permission to use it to store their bigger pieces of equipment, tricycles, pedal-cars, and a big paddling pool."

"Great work," praised Doyle. "Now what about the other three ?."

"I've found out exactly where they are," replied Steadman. "One looks more likely than the other two. Both of them have frontages onto busy streets. But this one is a bit more isolated, set back from the road a bit. There's a lane that goes down the back of it, which is mainly used by parents taking their children to school. It's a short cut, and safer too, away from the main road. I walked down there yesterday with some of them, and saw tyre tracks in some mud patches. Now there's no reason for anyone to drive down there, it doesn't go anywhere."

"Interesting," said Doyle. "Keep an eye on that one, but do be discreet about it, won't you."

"I'll be very careful," Steadman promised.

Doyle took the information back to his boss.

"Sounds promising," admitted Cowley.

"I know progress is very slow," said Doyle. "But we need to be patient and cautious about this if we're to catch them red-handed." Cowley nodded.

"But they know we're looking out for them, so they'll be cautious too," said Doyle. "It may take time, but we'll get them eventually."

He might not have been so nonchalant and patient if he'd heard a conversation that had taken place some days earlier, the day after Arturo and Ralph had returned to the family home.

Ralph had come rushing into the office where his uncle was working. He was in an excited state. He interrupted his work, and poured out a stream of almost incoherent words.

"Uncle," he exclaimed urgently. "I've just heard. Bodie and Doyle aren't dead. They are back in London."

"Pity, replied Arturo callously. "I thought we'd got rid of them."

"But you don't understand," said Ralph agitatedly. "They'll be after us now."

"So what ?," retorted Arturo. "I'm not scared of a couple of nosy policemen."

"But C.I.5 is special," continued Ralph. "They're more than just policemen."

"They are not going to interfere with my plans," declared Arturo. "Carnell has been co-operative. Our first consignment should arrive very soon, and then we're in business – very lucrative business !"

He threw a contemptuous glance at his nervous nephew. "If you are so worried, do something about it," he said and turned back to his papers.

Ralph hurried away, and began to think about that. Maybe he could do something, something that would increase his standing with his uncle.

Doyle was driving Bodie back to base, after a fruitless search they had been making for a minor drug addict they had wanted to question, who seemed to have disappeared from his usual haunts. Their journey took them along the road that runs through one of London's nicest parks, but they were in too much of a hurry to really appreciate what they were passing.

Then suddenly there was an almighty 'bang', and the fast-travelling vehicle under Doyle's hands started to swerve all over the road. He wrestled fiercely with it, as he tried to control its direction and bring the speed down. But there was no time to exercise his skill. In spite of his strenuous efforts, the car veered across the road, and ploughed into the shrubbery, coming to a sudden jolting halt, as it hit the large rhododendron bushes.

Bodie had had a moment to brace himself for the impact, and was shaken but unhurt. He looked anxiously at his partner, who was slumped across the wheel. He reached out carefully to tip him back in his seat. He was out cold. Gently he turned Doyle's head towards him, and took note of the cut and the trickle of blood on his forehead. His hand moved to find a pulse. It was strong and steady. Doyle had evidently hit his head and knocked himself out, but hopefully it would only be temporary.

Bodie tried to open the car door, but it only moved a few inches. Strong branches were impeding it.

He reached for the car phone to call for help, but although he pressed all the right buttons, he got no response. It must have been damaged by the crash. He wasn't carrying a radio-phone himself, as he wasn't officially on duty. But Doyle should have his, of course. He reached into his partner's jacket and fished it out. It only took him a few-minutes to call into base. He asked for assistance, and gave them their exact location.

By the time he'd done that, Doyle was beginning to stir. His eyes flickered open, and he straightened in his seat.

"What happened ?," he asked groggily.

"You fancied forty winks in a flower bed," said Bodie facetiously, as he waited for his friend to wake up properly. It didn't take long.

"We had a 'blow-out'," exclaimed Doyle, remembering. "Are you all right, Bodie ?"

"Yes, I'm fine," replied Bodie. "You came off worst, I think."

He pointed to the injury on his friend's head. Doyle pulled the driving mirror round to take a look.

"I've had worse," he said, "Now let's get out of here"

"Not possible," replied Bodie. "You've wedged us right into these bushes. But it's O.K.," he added, waving the phone he still held. "I've called for help, and suggested they bring the tow-truck. Dougie should be along any minute."

He was right. Hardly had he said the words, than the called-for assistance arrived. There was Dougie, chief mechanic in charge of C.I.5's car pool, with the powerful tow-truck. He came over to assess the situation, and peered in the window.

"You two again," he said cheerfully, in mock reproof. "Damaged another car for me, have you ? And look at you, just sitting there, enjoying the flowers."

And indeed the front of the car was well-decorated with fallen leaves and petals, and several large rhododendron flower-heads.

But he was a skilled and efficient man, and it didn't take him long to attach chains, and drag the vehicle free.

The pair climbed out thankfully, and were pleased to see another car draw up, driven by Murphy, sent to fetch them. He took them back to base, and insisted that Doyle see their medical man before he did anything else. But it was only a minor injury, soon dealt with, and decorated with a sticking-plaster, he went on up to Cowley's office, where Bodie was already explaining to their boss what had delayed them.

Just as he got there, the phone rang. Cowley answered and listened carefully. "You're sure?," he said. "All right, I'll tell them." He put the phone down.

"That was from the garage," he said. "Your 'blow-out' wasn't an accident. They found the remains of a bullet imbedded in the wheel-arch."

Bodie and Doyle exchanged looks. They hadn't considered that possibility.

"Arturo ?," suggested Bodie. "He's a crack shot."

"I don't think so," said Doyle. "If it had been him, he would have been more likely to have taken me out. But he's not been in this country very long and I don't think he rates C.I.5 very highly. Could have been Ralph, I suppose."

"Well, at least it means we're 'rattling someone's cage'," said Bodie.

He was getting better very quickly, and was desperate to get back into action. Driving about with his partner was better than sitting at home, but it still wasn't enough.

So he was delighted a day or so later, when he received a call from his friend Martell, suggesting a 'meet' as he had something to tell Doyle. Eagerly, he called Doyle's number.

"Right," said Doyle, "I'll set up it up."

"No need," replied Bodie, "I've already done that."

"But you're not on duty," protested Doyle.

"My leg's much better," said Bodie. "I saw the doctor yesterday, and I'm managing with just a stick. So, I'm coming with you."

Doyle decided not to argue. His partner couldn't come to much harm just meeting a friend, But he was determined that he wouldn't let him get involved in any action yet. Martell greeted them warmly.

"What is it you have to tell us ?," asked Doyle.

"It's about Mortinelli," replied Martell, "Most dealers start with a customer and an agreed price, and then arrange to acquire the requested goods. But there are rumours that Mortinelli is acting differently. It's being spread round that he has a consignment of top quality gear stored somewhere, and is now touting around for the highest bidder."

"Now that is interesting," said Doyle.

"Have you any idea where he's hiding it ?," asked Martell curiously.

"Might have" replied Doyle. "Since we deprived him of that warehouse he had planned to use, we've been looking out for him to be interested in somewhere else."

"Well, I wish you luck," said Martell. "His kind are a 'pain in the neck' to the few legitimate dealers, and they'd be glad to see him caught."

Doyle and Bodie returned to base and reported the conversation to Cowley.

"Have you made any progress in finding him ?," he asked.

"I think so," said Doyle. "I'm just waiting to hear from Steadman."

Cowley moved to look out of his window, which overlooked the yard where operatives parked their cars. "His car's there," he reported. "Looks as though he's just come in." As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the man in question entered.

"Have you got anything?," Doyle demanded eagerly.

"Yes, I think I have," replied Steadman.

Cowley waved them all to seats and they pulled them up and settled to hear what Steadman had to report.

"I've been keeping a careful eye on the site I told you about, Doyle," he began. "I made friends with a granny who walks to school in charge of three children, one only a baby in a pushchair. The little boy is a bit naughty and ran away from her. I caught him for her, and we got talking. For several days since then, I've walked down with her, and nobody takes any notice of me."

The three men listening registered this cleverness. I see now, thought Cowley, why Doyle said he had a skill at blending in.

"Yesterday it rained quite hard," continued Steadman. "When I walked down this morning, I noticed more tyre tracks in the mud. This time they were heavy duty, a truck or a lorry, I suggest. As I came back up the lane, I looked casually at the path that goes round the side of the church, and as I hoped to see, there were lots of footprints there."

"Well done, Steadman," exclaimed Doyle. "Looks as though we've found them, sir, doesn't it ?."

"We don't know for sure it's them," said Cowley, rather pessimistically, "But it does seem likely. And whoever it is, they're up to something. So we'll mount a raid tonight."

"Great," said Bodie enthusiastically. Cowley gave him a stare. "Not you, Bodie," he said, "You're not on active duty."

The dismayed look on Bodie's face was almost comical. "But, sir," he protested. "I've got to be there. Mortinelli nearly did for me. I have to see him get his just deserts."

"No," said his boss firmly, "You're not mobile. You'd be a liability."

"Oh, please, sir," pleaded Bodie. "I won't interfere, I promise. I'll stay right at the back. I'll even sit in the car till it's over. But I need to be there."

Cowley looked at his man, one of his best, and usually in the thick of things, and relented a little. "All right," he said, "As long as you do as you say, and stay well back."

"Oh, I will," replied Bodie fervently.

It was a dark and drizzly night, as two full cars drew up in a side street some distance away from the old church that Steadman had been watching. As the men from them gathered for a final briefing from Doyle, another car drew in behind them. To their great surprise it was Cowley himself. Doyle went over to his boss.

"I haven't come to interfere," said Cowley quickly. "Is Bodie with you ? Send him to me, and I'll keep him out of your way."

Rather taken aback, Doyle did as he was ordered, sent Bodie over, and returned to his briefing. Steadman was one of the group. Doyle sent him with another man to do a quick 'recce', down the lane he knew so well. The rest waited to see whether they found any signs of activity. A few minutes they were back, looking very pleased.

"I think we're on," said Steadman. "There are two cars parked in the lane. We've taken their numbers."

Doyle quickly called into base for identification on the cars. The results which came back to him a few minutes later were very pleasing. He went over to report to Cowley.

"There are two cars in the lane," he said, "One is listed to the Mortinellis all right, and the other is a rental car, leased to a man with an Arab sounding name."

"A potential buyer, probably," replied Cowley. "Right, Doyle, in your own time, go in and sort them out."

With the exception of Bodie, now sitting beside Cowley, the occupants of the two other cars, led by Doyle, melted away into the darkness.

"Sir," asked Bodie curiously, "Why did you decide to come ?."

"Mortinelli is a menace that needs to be stopped," responded his boss shortly. "I suppose I was annoyed by the callous way he treated you and Doyle, but mainly it was the fact that he seems to have totally disregarded the warning we gave him that we were watching his activities."

"Lack of respect for C.I.5," said Bodie exultantly "But he's soon going to find out that we don't tolerate that."

Steadman led the way as the group of C.I.5 men moved silently into the lane, and then took the path that led round the side of the old building. Glancing upward they could see just the faintest glow of light from the ancient stained- glass windows. When they reached the main entrance they found the heavy wooden door slightly ajar.

Doyle eased it a little wider and slipped quietly into the dark interior. One by one the others followed him and spread out behind him. They saw now that the light was coming from a pair of storm lanterns perched on top of a pile of crates covered with a tarpaulin. Half the tarpaulin had been folded back to reveal what it was concealing.

But there was no sign of anyone inspecting them. Where were they ? Had a sound, in spite of their careful entry, alerted them ?.

Doyle crept forward cautiously, rather puzzled by this.

Suddenly, Arturo Mortinelli stepped out from behind a pillar, almost in front of him. The light from the storm lantern held high in his left hand illuminated Doyle.

"Interferenti suina !," he yelled, as the gun in his right hand came up.

Doyle hardly had time to hear the words, but he guessed they weren't complimentary.

Instinct and training kicked in and he dropped flat to the dusty floor. The shot whistled above him. It was met by a fusillade of shots from the men behind, and Mortinelli crumpled to the ground.

Doyle scrambled to his feet and looked towards the pile of crates. Two hands rose slowly in the air, followed by the petrified face of Ralph Mortinelli. Then beside him rose another figure wearing the traditional Arab headdress. He quickly led his men forward to disarm the pair and arrest them. They checked rapidly round but there seemed to be no-one else there.

Bodie sat patiently beside Cowley, but he was restless and on edge. At last Cowley relented.

"I suppose we could go a little nearer," he said. "Are you up to walking that far ?."

"Course I am," replied Bodie eagerly, starting to scramble out of the car. "I'm much better. I could be fit for duty in a couple of days."

I think I'll wait for the official medical report on that, Cowley thought to himself.

The pair began to walk in the direction the other men had taken. Bodie endeavoured to walk as normally as he could, but Cowley could see he was still relying heavily on his stick.

Then they heard the sound of gunfire, the sound muted by the solid stone walls of the old building.

Cowley glanced at his man, and noted how Bodie's expression brightened and his pace quickened quite a bit.

They reached the church and entered. Cowley moved quickly to where his men were holding Ralph and the Arab gentleman.

Bodie hurried over to his mate, who was standing by Mortinelli's body

"You got him !," he exclaimed.

"Not me," said Doyle. "It was one of the others, don't know which. It doesn't really matter, does it ?"

"Oh," said Bodie in a disappointed tone." After how they treated us, I thought you would have preferred personal payback."

"That's alliteration," said Doyle.

"What is ?," replied a bemused Bodie.

"A string of words all beginning with the same letter. It's called alliteration."

Bodie stared at his partner. What was wrong with him ? They'd just taken out a nasty villain, and prevented a cache of deadly weapons going to terrorists, and here he was, wittering on about words !

Well, he thought to himself, it looks as if it's time I was back to sort him out. A few beers, and a good night out with some girls should do it. I can organize that.

And with that happy thought in his mind, he followed his partner over to the group busy examining the pile of crates. Another job completed.


End file.
